


The Tears We Shed

by Unicorn24601



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Background Character Death, Badass Winifred Barnes, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Gets a Hug, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky is adorable as a kid, Coming Out, Falling In Love, First Meetings, I tagged for angst already right?, It's Bucky and Steve, Jewish Bucky Barnes, Jewish Winifred Barnes, Love Letters, M/M, Motherhood, Steve Rogers Gets a Hug, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Teen Birth, Teen Pregnancy, Temporary Character Death, Unplanned Pregnancy, Winifred Barnes POV, Winifred has a rough life, Winnie Takes Zero Shit, Young Love, happy ending!, single mother
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-12 20:06:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28516140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unicorn24601/pseuds/Unicorn24601
Summary: Winifred Barnes is a stubborn woman who can survive. She might have had a baby as an unmarried teenager, and her husband might have died in the war, but she is perfectly capable of raising her son. That doesn’t mean there aren’t ups and downs that come with that. Winnie is trying her best, but life is messy and Bucky Barnes has always been a handful.Or, five times Winifred cries for the wrong reason and one time she cried for the right reason.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Winifred Barnes, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Winifred Barnes & Steve Rogers
Comments: 15
Kudos: 83





	1. We Did Not Choose To Be Born

**Author's Note:**

> This is already completely written, I will be posting two new parts every day until it is complete.

There had been a second, a single moment, where Winifred had regretted it.

It’s as the baby cries and the doctors clean her body. She’s sweaty and tired and everything aches. Winnie can hear the nurses cooing at the child, and her boyfriend squeezing her hand before leaving her side. But for a millisecond, the thought comes to her, no matter how briefly.

_ I’ve made a mistake. _

Panic fills her body. A cold feeling drips down her spine, like when an egg is cracked on someone’s skull and slowly oozes. Her gut clenches and her brain freezes and she can’t catch her breath. Winnie’s made a horrible mistake.

Tears fill her eyes and she can feel her heart racing, thumping inside her chest.

Maybe the doctor’s know. Maybe they know how she feels, or maybe it happens to all new mothers, but someone knows. Because just as soon as her body is full of panic, George calls her name.

George calls her name and suddenly there is something in her arms. Something fragile and soft, wrapped carefully in a bundle of blue and fluff. It’s stopped crying at this point and instead yawns sleepily in her arms.

Oh.

“It’s a boy,” George says, a pleased grin spread across his face. “The nurses said he has my nose.”

Gently, George reaches out and bops the infant softly on his nose. Cooing, the buddle grabs at George’s finger before letting go. Then, he turns his gaze to his mother, reaching towards her face in a gentle stretch. Slowly his eyes drift close, a gentle yawn dragged from his lungs, and Winnie tightens her arms around him. Once he seems to settle in, she reaches her hand up to stroke his face. He sighs in comfort, pressing his cheek into her hand. Winnie’s heart melts.

_ Oh _ .

It’s that moment when everything changes.

Maybe it’s his mouth, the color of the sky when it softens at sunset. Maybe it’s his chin, a cleft there so similar to her younger brother’s. Maybe it’s the softness of his skin, supple and giving off the same smell that all babies do. Or, maybe it’s his eyes, which are the exact same shade as her best friend who had died when she was fifteen.

Honestly, it doesn’t matter. Winnie looks at her baby, trusting and dainty and suddenly full of life, and she is overwhelmed with an unbearable wave of affection. She suddenly knows for a fact, deep down in the marrow of her bones, that she would do anything for this child. She knows she will love this child no matter his mistakes. No matter his failures. No matter his flaws.

For a minute she wonders if this is how her mother had felt. If everyone had this overprotective surge fill them, telling them to never put their tiny bundle in danger. Just like it’s commanding her. The urge to protect him with her life.

“James,” Winnie breathes.

Until this moment, she hadn’t picked a name. Winnie hadn’t asked for this baby, she hadn’t been wanting this to happen. So she didn’t have any clue what to do with it, let alone want to spend time thinking of names. Instead, she had had to focus on not panicking. On not finding herself in a dark alley with dangerous ideas of removing the unwanted  _ thing _ growing inside her.

But now? Everything is different.

Eventually, the nurses have to take him once more, to take measurements and fill out his information. Winnie is afraid to let them take him out of her sight, but she’s also exhausted. So, to her surprise, after what she thought was only a blink she finds it’s been over an hour and James is once more next to her. He’s asleep, resting in a crib to the side of her hospital bed. Curious, she watches him doze.

Winnie can almost see his life playing out in front of her eyes, with every breath he takes. His first word. His first steps. His first day of school. His first friend, his first  _ best _ friend. His first girlfriend. In her mind, Winnie can imagine him graduating, going to school, building a career. One day he’ll fall in love and get married, and then build a home and have children. She can see it as clearly as she once saw her own future.

Winifred had once had a vision for her future, but it’s long gone now. She had wanted to be a nurse, to go to school and meet a smart guy. But, fate had always been against her. George had easily swept her off of her feet, and she had been so smitten. Yeah, maybe some of the other kids had teased her for being too fast for it to be proper and for getting too tied up by her heart, but it had always led her to the right path. Well, until she got pregnant.

Not many right paths when you’re sixteen and unmarried and pregnant.

Thankfully, George is a good guy. He’s a little older, had his life a little more together. He had already graduated and was enlisting in the military, so he could take care of her and the baby. As soon as she had told him, he had proposed on the spot. So, that was her right path. Maybe.

But, when she looks at James’ face, everything clicks into place. 

She hadn’t expected it, hadn’t expected to love him so deeply so quickly. But if she’s being honest, she already loves James more deeply and more purely than she ever could hope to love George.

Maybe  _ this _ is where her path has always been leading her. Not to a love for the ages, not to a marriage destined to be better than anything expected. No, her path had been headed towards this precious thing wrapped in a blanket. Her path was guiding her to protect and cherish this tiny miracle, in a way that no one else ever could.

As she ponders this, James suddenly starts to sniffle in his sleep. Then, tears form, and a cry bursts from his mouth. Moving quickly, she pulls the crib closer before scooping him into her arms. She coos gently, rocking him tenderly while tucked against her chest.

“Don’t cry, honey,” she murmurs. “Mommy’s here. Mommy’s here, and she’ll keep you safe. I’ll always be here.”

Yes, she’ll always be right here.


	2. If We Had It Wouldn't Have Been Like This

It’s a strange thing, being a widow.

People look at you differently. There’s definitely pity, sure. Remorse. Empathy. But, the thing that no one tells you about is their guilt.

At first, Winnie had just thought they felt guilty for Bucky.  _ Poor child, he’ll never grow up with a father as I did.  _ Eventually, though, she learns better. They aren’t guilty about her son, or about her husband dying in the military protecting their freedoms. No, they look guilty because they’re happy and she isn’t.

As if she  _ isn’t  _ happy.

And that’s the thing, isn’t it?

Her husband is dead, she is raising a three-year-old boy all by herself, and she shouldn’t be happy. Except she  _ is. _

She had already known she wasn’t in love with George. Winifred had put up with him for the sake of her son. It wasn’t that she hated him, it was just that she had never loved him. Now she’s finally free of a marriage with someone she was indifferent about. So, yeah, maybe she’s happy about it. That doesn’t make her a bad person.

Oh, but the guilt on other people’s faces. That makes her angry. The fact that they have the audacity to think they’re better off than her, that they are  _ happier  _ than her. It makes her blood boil.

Maybe that’s what makes her so determined to do better. Winifred never wanted someone to look at her with guilt as if she couldn’t be happy or thriving without a man in her life. So, she got a job.

It was a nice little gig, running a bookshop for this nice elderly old man whose wife had also died. Harold, the shop owner, was happy to let Winnie bring Bucky along as long as she still got her job done. In the end, she decided to bring Bucky with and sit him down with a picture book while she tidied up, then come back and teach him to read in her spare time.

Sometimes, though, other mothers would come in. They’d come together, pushing strollers and sharing gossip. Eventually, they’d meander up to the counter with too many picture books for one child. Tittering behind her back, they’d gawk at her child. Her precious Bucky, who’s sitting just behind the counter, curled in a blanket and holding a book.

It’s a regular Tuesday when it finally breaks her down.

The bills were piling up, she had to take Bucky to the doctor for a checkup, and the looks had been worse than usual that week. Of course, that is the day when two wealthy women come in and make snide comments. As she finally shoos them out the door, with them holding more books than she could afford in a month, they make the final blow. It’s an innocuous comment, really. Something about how ‘mothers should stay home or it’ll ruin their child’s development’.

Maybe it was just the week she was having, or maybe it had always been building up to this moment, but Winnie was only just a woman. So, inexplicably, she ends up in the back room, holding back tears and praying for the bell above the door to not ring. Unfortunately, she’s too distracted to notice little Bucky waddling his way into the room with her.

Suddenly, while she’s curled into the corner with her head in her hands, she feels a small body plop into her lap.

“Mommy?” The voice is tiny and unsure, and it makes Winnie’s heart drop a little.

“Hi, baby,” she sniffles. Carefully, she tries to wipe the tears from her eyes before Bucky can notice them. “What are you doing in here?”

“Mommy? You’re crying?” His eyes are big and round, gazing up at her like she has the answers to the universe. If only she did. Then everything would be easier.

“Yeah, baby, I’m crying.” Somehow she manages to force a weak smile onto her face, pulling him tighter to her chest. “Don’t worry, honey, I’m not upset at you. I’m just sad.”

He seems confused by this answer. “Sad?”

“Uh-huh. Yeah, baby, I’m just a little sad. But it’s okay, I’ll be alright.”

Bucky still looks puzzled, when suddenly his face lights up. “Sad!”

Before she can figure out what he means by that, Bucky is off her lap and headed towards the front once more. Wondering if she should rush after him or not, he suddenly comes back through the door. In one hand he’s grasping a book and in the other he’s hugging his stuffed bear to his chest.

Then, he’s back in her lap and giving her a wet kiss on the cheek. “When I cry we cuddle. Here, book! We read!”

She gave him a light squeeze and a kiss on the cheek in return, trying to hide the swell of emotion that bursts from her chest. “Great idea, sweetheart, let’s cuddle here and read a book together.”

By the grace of God, Winnie was able to sit there for an hour before the bell jingled. She felt better already, and even just sitting there with Bucky had been enough to raise her spirits. So, even when she greets the woman pushing her stroller in, Winnie is able to handle any snide comments the woman might make.

Which makes it all the more surprising when, after Bucky had dashed to grab another book to occupy himself in the back, Winnie hears the woman greet Bucky kindly.

“Hello, there. What’s your name?”

“Bucky, but my mommy says that I should start using my  _ real  _ name, so you can call me James if you want.” Winnie snickers under her breath at that.

“Oh well then hello, James. Where’s your mommy?”

“She works here! So I read books  _ all day! _ ”

“All day, huh?” The woman has a nice voice, soft and kind. Most surprisingly, though, she’s not talking down to Bucky like other mothers do. “That must be lots of fun.”

“It is!”

“Well, Bucky, since you’re here  _ all day _ , do you think you could help me?” Winnie can just imagine the vigorous way Bucky nods his head and has to fight the urge to walk over and watch. “Well, I’m here to get Stevie here some books, but I don’t know which ones he’d like. Can you help me?”

“Sure!”

So Bucky talks animatedly about the children’s section and which books he loves and which ones he hates. He talks about which ones have the best pictures and which one mommy does the best voices for.

When he finally runs out of steam, and the woman seems content with her choices, they slowly come back towards the register.

The woman is a willowy thing, blonde and pale. Winnie can’t see the child in the stroller, but the woman has a stack of books in her arms as she listens to Bucky tell some story about one of the drawings he made.

When they finally are standing in front of her, the woman looks up and then back at Bucky fondly. “James, I don’t wanna interrupt your story but I have to pay for these books now. Is it okay if I do that?”

“Sure!” Bucky chirps. She gives him an affectionate smile and then turns her sights on Winnie.

“Hello,” Winnie greets with a soft smile, reaching out for the stack of books in her hand. “I don’t recognize you. Are you new around here or just visiting?”

The woman smiles, and it might be the brightest smile Winnie has ever seen. “Hello, my name’s Sarah and this is my son Steve. We just moved to the area.”

“Well, welcome,” she smiles. “You buying these today?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Winifred chuckles. “Oh please, just call me Winnie. I’m too young to be a ma’am.”

Sarah gives her another radiant smile back and then glances at Bucky who beams, too.

“Say,” she says slowly, “I haven’t really met anyone else the same age as Stevie here, and Bucky looks to be about there. Any way we could set up a play date? Maybe to read books?”

Winifred was so caught off guard she nearly dropped the book she was holding. “Um, sure. Are you sure your husband won’t mind?”

“Oh, I don’t have a husband,” Sarah said, her smile not even twitching. “He died in the war.”

“Oh.” Winnie pondered for a moment if she really wanted to give her life story to this random woman who she barely knew. But, the truth was, if she lived here now then she was sure to hear it soon enough from the rumor mill anyway.

“My husband died in the war, too.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Winnie.” Sarah gave her a sympathetic smile.

But, and here was the important thing. There was no  _ guilt _ in Sarah’s eyes. Only compassion.

Huh.

“So, a playdate?”


	3. We Did Not Choose How We Were Made

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe grab some tissues before you start?

Winifred should have seen it sooner.

There was this way that they looked at one another. This look they got on their face. They probably didn’t even know what it was at first. Blissfully unaware of the way the world would condemn them. Steve and Bucky were but children, still. Barely old enough to know what love means let alone how to feel it for one another.

And yet.

It is Winnie’s job, as his _mother_ , to protect Bucky. Maybe that’s why she’s so protective of them. So wary of the world waiting beyond their youth. A world ready to wound at the first mistake.

It starts with flowers.

Most of the time they’re weeds, really. Nothing too outstanding, nothing too spectacular. Sometimes there’s some nicer stuff, the kind you can find in the fancy parks by the rich homes.

She asks Bucky once who he gives them to.

Bucky gives her a smug grin and a confident, “The dames, ma, I just can’t keep ‘em away!”

It’s an easy answer to accept. Winnie has always seen the effect Bucky has on girls.

But the flowers come in a steady stream, and time passes on in a flurry of daisies and sunflowers and marigolds.

Then come the letters.

Most of them are skillfully hidden, and the first few glances Winnie even gets are brief little things before Bucky tugs them from her fingers. It’s a miracle he doesn’t tear the paper, he’s so hostile.

“Ma!” It comes out as an embarrassed yelp, Bucky’s face flushing red for barely a moment. “These are _personal_.”

“Oh, I’m sorry baby,” Winnie relents. “You just be sure to keep ‘em tucked away or else Stevie’ll find ‘em.”

She gives him a wink at that, and Bucky flushes an even deeper shade of red.

The letters keep coming.

Winifred gives it a couple of months before her curiosity gets the best of her. It isn’t her proudest moment, but the guilt also doesn’t stop her.

Before she can stop herself, she’s creeping into Bucky’s room while he’s at school, searching for the letters. They’re easy enough to find, only half successfully hidden by the skill of an absent-minded teenager. There’s a box.

The box is chocked full, stuffed deep in his underwear drawer. It’s half wedged in so the drawer will barely open. The cardboard is misshapen and bent, the letters spilling out and crumpled. She pulls the first one she can see out and opens it.

It’s easy to recognize her son’s handwriting, and it must have been a scrap of paper passed in class.

_I wish you sat closer_

Then, in a different pen, there’s a response.

_I wish I could hold your hand_

_Would make math a lot more fun at least_

Then, under the response was another note from Bucky.

_You’re smart, you don’t need me_ ❤

There seemed to be full sheets like this, some with class notes written on them and others just full of banter. Then, underneath them, there was a nicer paper. Stationary.

All the stationary pages were neatly stacked, the blank ones on the bottom.

On the top though… On the top were love letters.

From a quick scan, it was clear the oldest letters were on top and the most recent were on the bottom. Winnie started at the top.

> _My love,_
> 
> _I can’t see you today, and for that, I apologize. But despite the distance, my heart thinks only of you. I thought I’d help you improve your English, while also giving you a memento in case I’m ever gone too far. I’m sure you’re gonna tease me for this as soon as I see you next, but my heart is slow and tired and I worry when the morning comes you won’t see me again. So please, I beg of you, let me have this._
> 
> _My ma tells me I was always made to be a creative spirit, but it wasn’t until you that I found my true spirit. I could write sonnets about that dimple in your cheeks or the way your chin dips. You know I can’t sing, though, so instead, I’ll paint an everlasting portrait of every shade in the shape of your eyes or the complexities of your skin. But, alas, you know I cannot. So, instead, I can merely write to you and hope that my words are as moving as the way your words touch my heart. They always say a picture is worth a thousand words, but maybe a thousand words are more sentimental than a picture could ever be. For aren’t words of love more meaningful to a blind man than the shades of the world unbeknownst to him?_
> 
> _For I am a blind man and you hold all the letters for which I can write with, and maybe I can’t take a picture of this moment but maybe I can capture a memory you never want to forget._
> 
> _Remember me,_
> 
> _Sugar_

Winnie immediately feels shame, and as she wipes tears from her eyes she hastily tucks the letter back into the drawer and replaces the box in its hiding place once more.

The letters keep coming, but Winifred keeps her nose out of it.

Maybe she should have asked questions, maybe she should have nipped it in the bud. But Winifred knew young love and she knew to let them learn from their own mistakes. After all, her own had led to Bucky himself. Who was she to doubt their experience?

Winnie wants her son to have everything she never could. She wants him to have the love he deserves, the kind that can be celebrated and shared. The kind full of color and joy. The kind bursting to the seams with happiness and a sparkling future.

And perhaps that’s why she is so angry when Bucky decides to move in with Steve.

“Bucky, I want you to get married. Have children. Build a _life_. You can’t do that living in a run-down hovel with your unemployed _pal_ who constantly lives on death’s door!”

The words were cruel and he looks taken aback. But, only for a moment. And then. Oh, but then his face turns into a wall, impenetrable and fierce and full of rage.

“How _dare_ you.” He’s seething at this point, and his body is so tense Winifred could snap him in half. “Everything I am is owed to that _pal._ He does more for me than _you_ could in a single breathe. I owe him _everything._ ”

“No,” she snaps, “I am your mother.”

“And as my mother, you are supposed to support me!”

“Not when you’re ruining your life!”

That’s the moment. When she looks back on it, years down the line, that’s the moment she can’t forget. There’s this look on his face. Like he wants to be more for her, as if he feels like he‘s letting her down.

He hadn’t, though. It was the opposite. She has let him down.

“I love him.”

And that. That is the moment that haunts her. Cause maybe she could have saved him, maybe she could have protected him, maybe she could have convinced him.

But for love? There was no fighting that.

“I love him. I love every breath he takes and every single fucking word he says. I love every cough and sneeze and— and every time that he gets sick I think I’m gonna lose the love of my life because fate is too cruel to give him to me whole and healed. Ma, I _love_ _him_ and if I have to spend the rest of my life regretting not spending every moment I can with him before he’s gone then I will hate myself!” He lets out a broken sob. “If you stop me, though--if you stop me, then I’ll hate you, too.”

For a moment, just one, she thought about fighting him. But then... oh, but then she realizes.

Which is when Winnie lets out a sob.

“The letters?”

He looks confused for a second but then recognition dawns and he nods sharply.

Oh the letters. She should have seen it.

It’s then that the sobs truly start, deep in her chest and heavy on her heart. Winifred isn’t completely sure what she’s crying for, maybe the loss of her baby who’s suddenly a man. Maybe to the love she wishes she had been able to fight for like Bucky would for Steve. Maybe it’s for the future she knows will be unkind to them, no matter how they try to fight for it.

The tears flow and she can’t find it in her to stop them.

“Ma? Are you gonna call the police on me?”

And then she’s crying harder. She cries in shame, ashamed he thought she might hate him so much as to call the police.

As Winnie makes her way over to her son, the tears don’t slow. But she reaches out her arms, and when he cowers away for a moment, her heart drops into the floor before her. But, when he steps into her, letting her wrap her body around his, everything feels whole again.

“Oh baby, my baby,” she sobs. “I love you, I’m so sorry, I love you.”

It takes long minutes to stop, and it isn’t until her vision clears that she realizes he had been crying with her. Somehow they had made it to the couch, and Bucky sniffles in her shoulder.

Slowly, she tips his face toward hers. His cheeks are blotchy and her eyes feel swollen, but this moment is more important than snot and tears. She wipes her fingers under his eyes, clearing the tears away, then cupping his face gently.

“All of the important parts of me are made from memories of you.” Winnie gives him a wobbly smile, and the fear slowly creeps from his face. “I have taught you to love wholly and fully and generously. Why would I ever be angry at you for that? Why would I ever try to _fix_ you of that?”

“Ma...”

“Oh baby, I just want you to be _happy_. If he can give you that, if anyone can give you that, then it is all I can ask for. But I am also afraid, and I am your mother, so it is my job to be scared for you. And this--” she bites her lip. “I dedicated myself to making your life easier in the future, easier than my life ever was. Baby, this life won’t be easy.”

He frowns and looks at his lap.

“No, honey, look at me.” It’s only when he meets her gaze again that she continues. There are shadows in his eyes, and maybe his generation was raised in those shadows, but a man his age shouldn’t be so full of darkness already. “There is nothing you could do that would keep you from being my _son._ You are my son, and nothing could stop me from loving you. I was given a gift when you were born, and I would be a fool to forget that. You are the best thing in my life, and I won’t let something like this take you away from me.”

Finally, _finally,_ the frown disappears from his face.

“I love you, but you _promise me_ you’ll be safe.” Maybe the request is too big, but who can blame her for asking. Winnie shakes his face lightly. She wants Bucky to feel the strength of her words, how much she needs this from him. “You protect him, you protect _each other_ , and you stay safe because I can’t handle losing you. Not you both.”

He leaps at her, wrapping his arms around her again and holding her close to his chest. Desperate. “I promise, Ma.”

She sighs in relief, because it’s true. She can’t lose both her sons.


	4. If We Had It Wouldn’t Have Been This

Winnie knows even before Bucky speaks that it's bad news. There’s this look he gets on his face when he has something to tell her and he knows she wouldn’t like it. Like when he broke her favorite vase. Or when he got caught trying to sneak out of school. Or when he and Steve had gotten arrested for stealing some apples.

But she would take any of those over this.

“I was drafted,” Bucky affirms, not even a wobble in his voice. “I ship out next week.”

And maybe it makes her a bad person, but the first thing she feels is selfishness. Winifred is a selfish woman, and she isn’t ashamed enough to deny it.

She had been selfish in her youth, hungry for love and attention. She had been selfish in her twenties, desperate for money and respect. But now?

Winifred is selfish for her _son_. Maybe it’s only because she’s selfish for herself and her love for him, or maybe she is selfish for his love who would be left alone, or maybe she is selfish for his lost life and every dream he must cast aside now. But, however you looked at it, she is selfish.

“Are you sure?” It’s barely a breath, and she isn’t even sure Bucky’s able to hear her, but he gives a sharp nod in return.

“Yes, Ma.”

“Oh.”

She can feel the wobble start in her lip, the beginning of emotion stuttering at the edges of the firm grasp she so often holds. The tears burn as they form, and maybe that’s her punishment for being so selfish and thinking only of herself.

How many sons were to go off to war? How many husbands? How many would come back? How many in boxes?

She is not the only one to be affected, not the only one who will lose, not the only one to fear. And, for that, she's ashamed.

But shame does not stop the anger, it doesn’t stop the fear, and it doesn’t stop the selfishness.

“Oh baby,” she breathes, “It’s gonna be fine. You’re gonna be _fine._ ”

And if it had been anyone else, maybe that would have worked. But this is Bucky, and he isn’t like anyone else.

“Ma, no I’m not!” For once he sounds young, desperate in a way she wished she never had to hear. “No, I’m not! I’m gonna go get trained up and given a gun, and then I’m gonna get _shot_ at, Ma! And Steve will be here, without me, and the winter is coming and I won’t be able to take care of him! Ma, it isn’t fine and it never will be!”

His voice echoes in the room, he’s shouting so loud. He’s afraid. Bucky’s afraid and Winifred can’t blame him. What is war without fear?

“Ma, I need you to be honest with me, cause no one else will be.”

She gives him a soft smile, hoping it’s encouraging even in his spiral. Maybe it had been a lie before, but he’s asked for the truth and Winnie isn’t sure she can give it to him. 

“Bucky. You are smart, and you are strong. There was more than one reason that you and Steve were thick as thieves. I know you’re afraid, and I know you’re worried about Steve, but you listen here and you listen well.”

Her heart drops at the sight of Bucky’s shoulders slumped and dejected, nothing like the confident man she had watched grow up. Maybe that’s the real impact of war. Leaving a good man to wither and decay. Watching everything good creep away until nothings left.

“You will be fine, not because you are going to war and not because you’ll be safe. You’ll be fine because I know that you are brave and strong and smart, and you can make it through this.”

That must have been what Bucky had been wanting to hear because he looks back up at her like he has complete faith in every word she says.

“You gotta keep an eye on Steve. Please, I’m begging ya,” Bucky’s voice is pleading, and even if she wanted to say no it wouldn’t work against that voice.

Winifred nods. “Of course, he’ll be safe and sound the whole time.”

There’s a moment, dense and solid and heavy with the weight of the situation they’re facing ahead of them. Then, Bucky admits, “I’m scared, Ma. Terrified.”

“Oh, my love, I know,” Winnie coos. She steps forwards and envelops him into her arms.

“You can’t tell Steve, please.” If Winnie had heard begging a moment ago then she was wrong. This, _this_ , was Bucky begging. “He’ll be so angry if he knows I was drafted and he’ll be scared if he knows how afraid I am. You can’t tell him, promise me.”

“You’re secrets safe with me, baby.”

And that hadn’t been a lie, but maybe it was easier because not long after Steve was off on his own to the Army. Winifred never figured out how he had done it, his health never had been very good. But she also knew how prideful he was, and how stubborn he was to be at Bucky’s side.

Steve didn’t come to talk to Winnie like Bucky had, simply left a note on her door, but she wishes he would have come to say goodbye.

> _Ma Winnie,_
> 
> _I’ve gone to join Bucky with the war efforts. I promise I’ll bring him back safe. Can you keep an eye on our stuff while we’re gone?_
> 
> _Love,_
> 
> _Steve Rogers_

So maybe Winnie is selfish. Is it so wrong to wish for one more letter?

Just one more letter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry?


	5. We Do Not Choose How Others Tell Our Story

Winnie was one of the first to find out when they found him. Maybe it was because she was Bucky’s mother or maybe it was because she was Steve's adoptive mother. But, she likes to pretend it was because Steve asked for her.

Whatever the reason was, one fine morning she opens the door to a man with an eyepatch and a trenchcoat, who gives her a brief and polite “Ma’am,” before stepping in. Then turning her world upside down.

And so, less than a day later, she’s being sent to a secure facility where she will get to see Steve. She’ll become the first familiar face to welcome him into the future.

Oh, but Steve. Steve doesn’t look well. That’s Winnie’s first thought, the first gut-wrenching realization she has. At the same time, her heart drops into the Earth, shattered and dejected.

He’s in some kind of apartment they set up for him. There are a kitchen and a living room, then a hallway which leads to a bedroom and a bathroom. But the walls are bare. There’s no color, and if Winnie knew Steve at all--which she did--then she knew this was not his choosing. This is not his home, bland and dark and forgotten.

They have her looking in through some window like he’s in a goddamn interrogation room.

“We have him isolated to keep him from putting himself at risk.” Nicholas Fury, the man said his name was. He holds little warmth in his voice, so it’s no shocker that Steve is considered  _ at risk _ .

“You mean he’s suicidal.” It isn’t a question, and the lack of response to her question confirms the suspicion. Winnie sighs. “Let me in.”

“Ma’am, he still has to finish his observation period before we can let anyone but doctors in--”

Winnie puts a hand up, cutting off whatever bullshit Fury is going to continue on with. “I don’t actually care. You brought me here for a reason and I am his  _ mother _ . You will let me in that goddamn room or you will not like what happens.”

He looks like he’s gonna argue but Winnie beats him to it. “I was a single Jewish mother raising a son during the Holocaust. Try me.”

Fury doesn’t look shocked, but there’s a moment where she can see his eye twitch in irritation. His cool facade is crumpling with each word.

“Fine.”

Winnie is led to some door, nothing like she’s seen before. It takes a solid five minutes before the door is unlocked. And then it’s opening.

“I want the cameras off. No recordings, no sound, nothing.”

This finally seems to shock Fury.

“Ma’am, he is still considered at risk. We cannot allow you in there with no way of watching to see his reactions and whether or not you’re at risk. We can’t--”

Winnie slices her hand through the air. It’s the same way she would have when she had to ground Bucky and keep him from arguing. “ _ No.  _ You have someone who is grieving, and alone, and terrified. The fact that he’s here at all is a human rights violation in and of itself. You will not be using his grief against him, and you certainly won’t be using it against me. I’ve been alive for a long time,  _ Nick _ . Don’t fucking test me.”

And now  _ that _ is anger on his face. Annoyance.  _ Good _ .

Through grit teeth, he gives a soft, “yes, ma’am.” 

Winnie stares him down, just to make sure he knows how serious she is. How much he should fear her as a mother. Finally, she turns sharply on her heel and slams the door in his face.

She takes a couple of deep breaths, steeling herself. Eventually, Steve speaks.

“Leave me alone, Fury. No more questions.”

Oh, Steve.

As Winnie makes her way down the hallway, she notices how the hallway has mismatched paint. Covering… holes. Numerous holes, the size of someone’s fist.

Oh, Stevie.

“Nick won’t be bothering us.” As she passes the two-way glass, she gives a sharp look in, before yanking a set of curtains across and covering their view of the apartment. It’s more for emphasis than effectiveness but by the way the camera lights blink off, it’s very effective.

Then she turns the corner, and there’s Steve again.

Steve looks… rough. His clothes are slack on his body and his hair is rumpled. He’s curled himself into a ball on the couch, his head buried in his knees. There are visible spots on his clothes, and Winnie is pretty sure there’s blood on his shirt. His knuckles are swollen, which is not reassuring.

“Stevie.”

Maybe it’s the name, or maybe it’s her voice. But Steve finally looks up at her, eyes red-rimmed and watery, hope clear across his features.

“Ma Winnie?”

Winnie gives a soft smile back, sitting herself down next to him on the couch. For a second Steve just stares, face slack in shock. But finally, his brain catches up. Before she can process what’s happening, Steve is sobbing face-first into her skirt.

Steve doesn’t cry often. Even as a boy.

Winnie had always known about the back alleys fights. The brawls at school. She was no fool, and she knew that bruises like his didn’t just show up from running into poles. But, he had never cried. Not in pain or fear or grief, even after his own Ma had passed.

“How long?” Winnie asks.

Steve doesn’t even have to ask what she means. He knows.

_ How long have you been alone? How long have you been suffering? How long has Bucky been dead? _

“Three days.”

“Oh, honey,” Winnie clicks her tongue, stroking his hair and rubbing his back. “I know, honey, let it out.”

And he does.

Winnie isn’t sure how long he cries, how long she sits there with him. But, when the tears finally stop, he tilts his head towards her. Not like a flower towards the sun. No, that was reserved for Bucky. More like a student to their teacher, looking for answers to a riddle bigger than himself. Slowly Winnie wipes the tears from under his eyes, stroking him softly and tenderly.

Sarah has been gone for a long time now, and Winnie promised to take care of her boy. 

She’d promised Bucky, too.

“There we are, sweet boy. No more tears.”

Steve shudders, and for a moment she fears he’s gonna burst into tears once more. Maybe he will. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Whatever for?”

Another tear does slip from his eye at that. “It’s my fault. It’s my fault he’s dead.”

Winnie purses her lips, and she’s lucky he’s dropped his gaze and missed it. Before he looks up again she puts on a reassuring smile. “No Steve, that isn’t on you.”

“I couldn’t--I didn’t--”

“Shh, honey, I know.” Winnie pats his hand softly, grasping it tightly in hers. “I know, Steve, I read the report. The  _ full _ report. I know what happened.”

Steve lets out another sob.

“Hush now, Stevie, listen to me.” Winnie chucks him under the chin, tipping his face up until he meets her eyes. 

There are dark shadows in Steve’s eyes, the kind you only find in those who’ve been to hell and back. And he has, hasn’t he? More so than most.

“Steve, we don’t get to choose how we die. We don’t get to choose how our loved ones die. We are victims of fate, the tools used by something greater than ourselves. We don’t get to make those choices, so if you tried your hardest to save him then it wasn’t your fault. It was his time.”

“But I wasn’t ready.”

And oh, isn’t that the truth? We never are ready, are we? We’re never ready to let go. 

Winnie has been alive for a long time. She has watched husbands die, mothers and fathers. She’s watched friends die, mentors and bosses. She’s watched children die. Her  _ own  _ children.

“We’re never ready, Steve. No one ever is.” Winnie gives him a watery smile, can feel the emotion escaping from her in the only way it knows how. “That’s why we spend every moment we have, every second we get, together. We take these moments we  _ can _ control, the things we  _ can _ choose, and we love each other until we can’t. We love deeply and passionately and  _ fully _ .”

“Steve, Bucky loved you more than a flower loves the sun. He loved you eternally like the depth of a black hole. Bucky spent every moment of his life doing everything in his power to make you happy. He wouldn’t want you to be guilty for this. He wouldn’t want you to punish yourself. He would want you to  _ live _ .”

“But,” Steve whispers, “I don’t know if I can live without him.”

He says it like it’s a secret, like he is the first person who lost everything. And maybe he isn’t, but that’s never stopped anyone from feeling grief. That’s never stopped people from hurting in the past. He’s the millionth to lose, so what?

That doesn’t invalidate the pain. It doesn’t console the heart.

“I can’t tell you what to do with your life, Steve.” Winnie sighs. Even if she did, though, she wouldn’t tell him. That was his own mission. “All I can tell you is, you  _ can _ keep living. I won’t lie to you, it won’t be the same without him. But it will get easier. It will get  _ better _ . It doesn’t have to be a bad life. There are so many other things to live for.”

Finally, Steve takes in a stuttering breath. He wipes under his eyes, then twiddles with his fingers, before looking up at her once more.

“I miss him.”

Winnie’s heart skips a beat. “I know you do. And you’ll never stop. He’s a part of you, baby. Forever and ever.”

And then they sit there. Quietly.

After a little bit, Steve gets up and comes back with some tea and crackers. They drink, and they eat, and Winnie tells Steve about her life.

She tells him about the future. She tells him about getting remarried. She tells him about how she worked with veterans. She tells him about how she made a space in her memory for them.

Winnie tells Steve about the life she lived without Bucky and hopes that maybe if she talks long enough then he’ll realize he can keep living too.


	6. If We Could It Would Look Like This

Winnie is an old woman these days. Her bones ache and her eyesight is getting worse. Sometimes she gets confused and sometimes she can’t hear. She has a live-in nurse now. After she fell in the shower and broke her hip Steve didn’t want her alone anymore.

Her house is filled with dust, now. Old pictures cover the walls, and knickknacks cover the countertops. Memories of a life well-lived.

She has a hard time recognizing faces nowadays. Remembering people. They tell her it’s dementia, but Winnie always was a stubborn woman, so she’s lucky she’s lasted so long. Well, at least that’s what they tell her.

They tell her she has episodes, that her memory is going bad. Maybe it is.

Steve visits. He tells her stories, things about his life. She tells him stories too, usually about Bucky. Sometimes she forgets she told him that story already. Steve doesn’t mind.

They don’t tell her about him. He shows up at her door one day. Alone.

But Winifred can’t see faces real well anymore, so she only sees a new friend.

She’s sitting on her porch, watching people pass by. Suddenly, a man stops at the fence. But, she doesn’t mind. He can stand there as long as he wants.

He’s nothing much to look at. A little worn, a little dirty. Lost. Winnie assumes it’s just a homeless man, someone needing her to care for a minute. Winnie has a minute.

“You need help, baby?”

He frowns. “Dunno.”

So, Winnie pats the seat next to her. “Cm’here, honey.”

He’s skittish. Twitches a little as he makes his way inside the gate. But, he makes his way over, then sits in the wicker chair on the other side of her. She’s got a pitcher of water and a plate with sandwiches on it sitting on the table next to her. Winnie has no appetite and he looks hungrier than her. She offers it to the man.

“When’d you last eat, baby?” The man doesn’t respond but slowly takes a sandwich and bites into it. She hums. “You in danger?”

He gives a short nod.

“I figured as much.” She watches him eat slowly. He’s cautious, like he’s afraid she’ll take it. His hair covers most of his face, but she’s seen his type before. “Don’t you worry, honey, I got plenty more where that came from. You got a name?”

The man freezes, then slowly looks up at her and then back down at the sandwich. 

“James.”

She hums again. “You know, I had a son named James. He’s dead now, but I still think about him. I’m an old woman now, got nothing better to do than remember.”

James doesn’t say much, sipping at the water now.

“Want me to tell you about him?”

He nods. So she does.

She tells him how smart Bucky was. He and Stevie always were good at school, even if they’d rather be doing something else. She talks about how they got into fights as kids and thought they got away with it. James laughs at that, the first time Winnie hears him laugh. So, she tells him about how they were a bunch of troublemakers, and how often she had to patch them up.

After they’ve talked for an hour or so, the man stands up sharply. He nearly knocks over the chair but seems dazed enough that Winnie doesn’t correct him.

“You come back if you need to, baby,” she tells him. And she means it. But before she can say anything else he’s off, making a dash for the gate.

To be honest, Winnie wasn’t even sure he’d heard her. But then he shows up again. 

“You got any more sandwiches,” he asks, standing before her and twitching softly.

So Winnie sits him down with a bowl of chili, pours him a glass of lemonade, and tells him more stories. 

And then, just like last time, James stands abruptly and leaves hastily. Winnie doesn’t mind.

It became a thing after that. Every other day the man would show up. Winnie would offer him some of her lunch, and she’d tell him stories about her life. It was nice to tell someone about Bucky, someone who wasn’t Steve.

He was a good listener, James. Didn’t say much, but he paid attention and let her blabber on.

Sometimes Winnie would give him money, but even then he kept showing up. He didn’t look much different, except he bought new clothes sometimes. Mostly he just looked sad. Lost.

Winnie’s eyes get worse over time. James keeps coming but seeing him becomes more difficult. He never says anything about it, but she knows he can tell.

A couple of months after he had started showing up he brings her a gift. Winnie had never told him it was her birthday, but James still knows somehow. He's wrapped it in balloon paper, bright and colorful.

“Happy birthday,” he says, holding it out. 

Winnie takes it delicately from his hands. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

James hums, taking his place next to her. He starts in on the lasagne Winnie had for him while she unwraps the present.

When she’s finally peeled the paper off and opened the box, Winnie finds a journal and a beautiful fountain pen. The journal’s cover is made of leather and it's well bound. Sturdy, but with a beautiful flower design across the cover.

 _We write so we never have to forget,_ it reads.

“James, it’s beautiful,” Winnie grins.

He hums again. “So you can write your stories?”

She gives him a soft look. He’s chewing slowly now, watching her reaction. Winnie is rather fond of him now, and James has gotten more vocal over their time together.

“James, why do you come to see me every day?”

Maybe she shouldn’t have asked it, and it probably wasn’t any of her business. But, she always has been a curious person.

He doesn’t look like he’s gonna answer at first. But, after a moment he says, “I don’t always remember. You help me remember.”

“Don’t you have someone who loves you? Someone who can help take care of you?”

James doesn’t say anything to that, but his eyes get far away for a moment and he seems to think about it. 

Winnie isn’t trying to be cruel. She just wants him to get help, maybe. Be loved.

But, if she is the only person who can love him, then she will.

Coming out of his head a little, James looks at her once more. “Another story?”

James stops coming after that day. Steve stopped showing up too, for a while.

Winnie misses them, but mostly she wishes she knew they were alright.

And then, a couple of months later, Steve comes around again. Except he wasn’t alone this time.

“Stevie, where you been? You better be visiting me more often, or else you’ll break your momma’s heart.”

“Aww, Ma Winnie, you know I wouldn’t forget about you.”

She harrumphs. “Sure feels like you did. Why you standin’ all the way over there? You know I can barely see you. Come here.”

So Steve does, the man beside following along.

“Ma Winnie, I want you to say hi to someone,” Steve says. It’s tentative, and that alone makes her wary. But, if Steve is bringing them to her then they’re important.

“Is it one of your Avengers friends?” Winnie chuckles. Steve and all his followers. “Been long enough. Y’know, as much as you all get into trouble together, I oughta put leashes on you! Trackers, maybe.”

Steve chuckles too at that. “Maybe you should.”

As they get closer, step by step, Steve’s face gets clearer. And so does his companion. But, it isn’t until they’re directly in front of Winnie that she freezes.

See, Winnie might be old but she isn’t crazy. She knows what’s real, and she knows that Bucky’s dead. She hasn’t lost her marbles quite yet.

So she takes a step closer, cupping his face in her hands. She’s close enough to see every detail of his face, and still she doubts herself.

And yet.

He doesn’t look the same. He’s bigger, taller somehow. But that might just be because Winnie’s shrunk in her old age. His face, though. It looks older worn from the years and he no longer has the baby fat from his youth. He looks _grown_.

_Bucky._

“Hi, momma.” His voice is soft, tentative. And, the most horrible part is that Winnie recognizes that voice. She’d been talking to that voice for months, she’d been telling stories to that voice for months.

“Bucky?” It comes out more like a sob than a question, but Winnie can’t control it.

“Yeah, Ma, it’s me.” His eyes look a little red-rimmed and he chokes a little on his words. As she watches him stand there, as she takes in the moment, she can almost feel her heart being put back together again. Each breath is a stitch, sewing pieces back in that she had long forgotten.

Winnie doesn’t know how Bucky got here, and maybe she doesn’t want to know. But, the truth of the matter is that he’s _here._ He’s here, and she gets to see him, and just maybe he gets to live again.

“Bucky,” she whispers, in disbelief.

“Sorry I’ve been gone so long.”

For a moment he seems to cower away from her. Never in her darkest nightmares had Winnie wanted to see him like that again. Afraid of her.

“James Buchanan Barnes, you give me a hug right this second.”

Bucky freezes for just a second, a moment really, before the words process in his brain. Then he gives her a soft smile and leans into her.

Hugging Bucky again is like… like paradise. Like stepping through the pearly gates. Like a dream that can only be true if you’re in the deepest of sleeps.

He smells the same, which maybe is a strange thing to think about. But there’s this undertone. Like the forest on a sunny day, like clean clothes and warm spices. And his body is warm, strong and dependable and sturdy.

That’s it. That’s the moment she never forgets.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Winnie sobs, giddy and haunted and angry. Angry at _herself_. Angry she missed it. Angry she hadn’t recognized him. Angry she hadn’t gotten him back sooner.

“I was lost, momma. Didn’t know who I was.” He holds her tenderly, enveloping her body with his. “You reminded me, though. You helped bring me back.”

And maybe, just maybe, that can make up for her anger at herself.

“I missed you, Ma,” he sighs, nuzzling into her warmth. Just like when he was a baby and she held him. Just like in the bookstore. Just like when he skinned his knee. Just like when he came out. Just like every moment before now, carefully packaged away in her memory and safely kept in bubble wrap, to be pulled out and cherished again and again.

Winnie sighs too, finally. All the tension and grief can finally be left behind.

“I’m here, baby,” Winnie murmurs.

Just like before. Just like she told him, all those years ago. 

She’ll always be right here for him.


End file.
